Hearthstone hijinks 2

This second hijinks took place when I was testing out a new priest deck.  Anduin the priest is a very strange young man.  In the sea of armor clad orcs with biceps larger than a human chest, hunters who have tested themselves in the harshest wilds of Azeroth, and women who could sunder entire armies without breaking a sweat, the ninth hero of Hearthstone is a mild mannered bean pole of a prince named Anduin.  Today's deck capitalizes on his ability to buff and heal an army tempo that the mightiest board clear cannot break while mind controlling and converting enemy forces for efficient mana and card trades while simultaneously having draw power literally off the charts, dipping my hand into the enemy's deck to play their own cards against them.  Many matches go to fatigue, but so far most have gone in my favor.

The game featured a player who yielded every turn to me.  Usually when a player disconnects, you just win, but this game the enemy warlock just yielded every turn until I beat him into a pulp.  I felt bad.  I almost conceded twice just because fighting an unarmed man, even my mortal (yet undead) enemy, just felt wrong.  I powered through though.  Let's see what my imagination thought.

Ahem

"

Greetings, Anonymous.  I am Edwin Van Cleef live on VTV and I am interrupting your mainstream media coverage to bring you the truth.  Tonight is the highly anticipated Mr. Stormwind competition in downtown Stormwind city.  Tonight, the hero of the Horde and nightmare from the Undercity, Gul'dan, has bought access into our city to take part in the proceedings.  Tonight, security is so tight that not even the SNN can get close to this battle.  But tonight-- tonight, the truth will be unveiled.  One of my SI-7 agents got an owl's eye view of the people's decision on the matter and it is coming to you now, just moments after the showdown, to help spread the truth of the corruption that poisons Stormwind's deepest wells.

For those if you living in ignorance, Gul'dan, the undead and sworn enemy of Stormwind, has gained entrance into that once great city by donating thousands of gold to the Mr. Stormwind competition.  I don't like this.  Either Gul'dan is planning some form of subterfuge for the horde or he is willing to divert thousands solely to see Stormwind's finest men in bikinis.  I don't know which is worse, but the truth is all I come here to offer.

To make matters more confusing, the people have chosen Gul'dan to fight for pop idol, Fernando Trollbane, against the reigning Mr. Stormwind, Leeroy Jenkins.  Why is this confusing?  Follow the money!  Gul'dan's money is ALWAYS on Leeroy.  VTV recorded footage shows Leeroy time and time again aiding our enemy and ensuring victory in many Murlok-filled zoo storms.  This relationship built on greed must end.  

This is why tonight I take you dangerously close to the battle to show you the truth of what happened.  Anduin's true face may inspire you or disgust you, but prepare yourselves; this footage is not safe for the weak of stomach.  So rarely do we get to hear the words of battle uttered in real time, but words offer the means to meaning, and for those that listen, the enunciation of truth.  And the truth is that there is something terribly wrong with this city.  My name is Van Cleef and this is VTV.

Here we see the two combatants alone in the streets of old town.  Gul'dan stands imposingly at the door of the pub as Anduin approaches from the West.  The district is off limits to ALL but the combatants.  Never stopped me, has it?

"...Greetings."

Anduin is seven kinds if creepy, if you ask me.  He may wear the banner of the light and the crown of that once great city, but that boy's shadow magic and knack for absolute mind control puts him on even footing with the master of shadow magics himself.  This isn't a battle of good and evil here.  That's just what they want you to believe.  Anduin calls his brightest cleric to the field.  Her dark skin is far too beautiful for the battlefield.  Her buffs are strong, but against this warlock, I would be expecting HUGE early aggression.  And yet, Gul'dan stands motionless.

"... Greetings."  Anduin's words pass again over uncaring, rotten ears as he calls a rabid worgen to his side.  The girl and the dogbeast begin to beat the defenseless, speechless undead.

"Why do you not fight, warlock?"

Gul'dan speaks, his words briefly perforated by pathetic kicks to the shin and limp, unenraged claw swipes.  "I fight for the honor --smack-- of Fernando.  If I win, he is crowned --oof-- Mr. Stormwind."

"Then fight, vile abomination!  May the light guide the most beautiful man to be crowned through victory!"  

Holy light smites Gul'dan to his knees and he raises his head directly into the wrath of these two weak minions.  Anduin is not capitalizing on this free tempo advantage, but continues to order his friends to beat the helpless undead.  "Look at yourself, lightbringer, last week, you were to stand here and I was to stand there, what changed?"

"The people have spoken and nominated me for this competition for my devotion to Leeroy."

"Please, you used him ONCE to pull a victory out your bishop's hindquarters.  I sense the deception in your heart.  Give into the dark side, Anduin."

On cue, the so-called holy avatar's eyes begin to glow purple with unholy energy and his mind blast burns negative energy wounds into Gul'dan's flesh.

"No.  I refuse to listen to your lies, snake!  I'll never join you."

"Oh?  But you already have, my dear boy.  You have betrayed Fernando by not standing for him."

"And you betray Fernando by not fighting when you are called to fight for him."

The warlock smiles, the pitiful clawing, scratching, and burns hardly even stopping his speech.  "Then our goals are aligned.  Leeroy is the rightful heir to this title and the mass media will spin this victory my way.  Leeroy will not lose his power and nothing you can do will stop it."

"No!"  Anduin visibly reels from Gul'dan's words.  "Everyone wants Leeroy nerfed.  What if I lose-- what if I concede?"

"You won't.  You can't.  Your people need you.  To show you cannot win in your very own city against an opponent with no minions will show just how incapable you are to face me in the Undercity.  Your ranking on the ladder depends on this victory.  Your reputation as a prince depends on this victory.  If you concede now, all of Stormwind will know of the coward, Anduin Wryyn, who concedes to his sworn enemy in an attempt to siphon power away from one of the realm's most abused 6/2 charge unit with a blatant political scandal involving the most popular owlvision show on the air."

Anduin's diminuitive beauty strikes the hardened war criminal with a closed fist and retreats, cradling her injured hand.

"Who knows?  You might even be accused of an affair with Fernando."

"Why are you doing this?  I see no owls, you seem to have everyone silenced and me between a rock and a hard place.  Why?  How?  For what reason?"

The warlock's eyes grin with pleasure to spill the beans.  "I'm still alive somehow.  Sure, I'll tell you.  Leeroy must not be nerfed.  I have sold countless stacks of dust and fraudulent arena passes in order to orchestrate this trap for you, your majesty.  When Leeroy wins by the hand of Stormwind's most eligible bachelor/prince (although we both know that is a crock of Tauren shit), there will be no way to nerf him without enraging the public.  I get paid by Leeroy, Leeroy gets paid by me next time he and my zoo destroy all your feeble friends.  That's right, young Anduin.  Your friends will die.  Take your minions.  Take them and STRIKE ME DOWN!"

"NOOOOOOO!  I will defeat you and speak publicly on this deep corruption.  Your kind should never have been allowed in our great city.  Prepare to meet thy doom."  Anduin's rage refreshes and yet these two minions are still the only two on the field even now on turn 7.  

"What are you doing, seriously.  Just get this over with."

Anduin awkwardly heals his cleric's bruised hands, "... I'm trying, actually.  All of my powers are designed to counter and manipulate the cards you play.  My hand is full of cards I literally can't use unless you deal damage to me or play a minion.  My Northshire cleric has 14 health despite her 1 attack."

The unenraged worgen pants and wheezes.  

"This just got awkward."  The warlock goes silent and accepts his slow beating humbly.

Anduin's best and brightest has trouble keeping her assault steady on turn 8 when Anduin finally unleashes a greedy, ninja-rolling gnome to deliver the killing blow.  

Gul'dan is defeated and Stormwind celebrates what they have heard on the SNN, but now, Stormwind, you know the truth.  If you've seen what I've seen, if you feel as I feel, meet me in Westfall, one year from today, and we shall give Stormwind a fifth of November that shall never EVER be forgot!

Hearthstone hijinks 1

Hearthstone is an online card game in the style of Magic: The Gathering.  It is a free to play experience based on the legendary WoW and by the same creators at Blizzard Entertainment.  That being said, I take no credit for the characters although I will be using them to tell stories that may as well be fan fiction.  I will be taking what I remember of a match of Hearthstone and retell the battle how it appeared in my head.  None of this should ever be cannon and it should NEVER be published for the whole world to see, so let's make some mistakes today and hope for the best.

The first one is about a match I had with a Jaina deck I created in the image of the philosophy of Aikido.  There is a lot of area crowd control and powerful spell 'movements' to clear everything my opponent throws out at me 

Ahem

""

Reporting to you LIVE from Pandaria region 6 a veritable army of Stormwind craftsmen and women camp as Malfurion himself stands in violent protest to any who draw near.  Word is that Jaina Proudmore herself has come to make sure this valuable war effort is executed.  The craftsmen are here to create windmill arrays for-- wait!  Here she comes, ladies and gentlemen, here she comes.  Out from the tents like a goddess of blue and silver, she stands at a mind-blowing 6 foot 1 and her white hair, ladies and gentlemen, that hair is the stuff of dreams.  Let's send the sight owl down to listen to what they have to say to each other, shall we?  Looks like we'll be able to catch mosth of Jaina's first words.

"--you are not listening to me!  No harm will come to the forest!  We use science, not some study none of your tweeting blue birds cheeped at you at the crack ass of whatever dawn you heard whatever hippie crap is making you stand here now.  You asked for this."

That was the longest sentence I have ever heard, ladies and gentlemen, but you heard it here!  Jaina backs the safety of these turbines and so should YOU!  But wait, the wind is blowing on Malfurion gently, that means he is about to speak.  His absolutely astounding purple musculature is wreathed by a coat of pine needles and the ageless remains of a tabard, unrecognizable to my history.  Ladies, cover your eyes if you want to remain attracted to your husbands!

"Leave the forest at once.  This project will harm the forest according to the tweeter known as Phillipa. There must be another option.  No.  There WILL be another way.  I must protect the wild."

Without warning, Jaina's mana wyrm charges forward and begins a long and painful battle with a tango ironbeak owl.  The wyrm's magic will be no good near the mysterious screeching of that owl!  The wyrm comes out victorious, but Malfurion finishes it off with a wrath and looks rather pleased with himself.  Jaina cracks the smile right off his face with a sly firebolt to the beard.  It will take more than that to take this monster of an elf off his feet, but something tells me that was supposed to be a shot to his pride.  

Looks like Jaina was up to no good after all with that firebolt, for when Malfurion retaliated with a spell of his own, she countered it.  His primal magic spirals out of control in a flurry of green and blue wisps. What a sight!  Cool under pressure, fighting for a cause that is right, this is the Jaina Proudmore we know and love, ladies and gentlemen, but what's this?  Here come the beasts!  Lions, tigers, and bears, oh my goodness, they are pouring out from everywhere.  Whatever tweeter tweeted this completely untrue report on the safety of these windmills sure rallied an army!

Jaina is calmly back stepping through the streets of Pandaria, freezing and delaying foe after foe.  For every minion she calls to battle, Malfurion calls 3, but well timed cones of cold and frost novas appear to be giving Jaina's forces the upper hand, despite her backwards movement.  I can't tell where she is going, but she must have something up her sleeve.  She is retreating in a spiral pattern drawing all of Malfurion's damaged forces into the town square!  AND THERE IT IS!  The flame strike to end all flame strikes on the field with a wild pyromancer in the field is demolishing everything!  Malfurion furiously kicks a post and a Pandarian windkite goes flying.

Malfurion's forces are gone, ladies and gentlemen!  The vast influence he poured into those creatures is just gone.  The dust is settling now and it appears that Jaina's gnomish apprentice, Susva, has somehow survived the inferno.  Maybe this little one will have what it takes to become the next hero of Stormwind, but I am honestly not placing any bets on her.  Malfurion prostrates himself before what remains of Jaina's forces and is bowing his head to the earth.  I think we are seeing game over here to a single gnome on the field-- BUT WAIT!  A coin is popped and out of the earth, a monumental Ironbark Protector has risen!  I have never seen one before in person-- it must be 30 feet tall!  The thick, ironlike bark forms around inexplicably beautiful blue spirits I can only imagine to be its eyes.  A fateful wind blows this day, ladies and gentlemen.  Autumn leaves cascade down onto a stunned Jaina.  Is this war effort to be put on hold again?  Stay tuned to your sight owls to experience it as I do!  

Jaina is pacing around the awakening oak.  She looks absolutely miffed!  She throws out an Ice Lance to freeze the massive oak and settles her apprentice down.  Jaina appears to be in deep thought just feet outside the swiping range of this frozen monolith.  Wait.  What just happened?  Did she just send out a firebolt arcing into the sky?  I believe she did, folks.  My staff tells me she even sent it out along with a /rude gesture.  I barely noticed that one, did Malfurion?  Let's wait and see!  ... No, ladies and gentlemen, he is resting by a tree thinking of his next move!  Aaand it hits him right in the back of the head!  He is furious, ladies and gentlemen, this battle may be far from over!

Whatever few beasts must be left in this forest pour out into a still burning town center and Jaina's blizzard freezes everything in their tracks.  Susva takes one for the team and sacrifices herself to imprison the gargantua not protector.  Jaina is on the offensive now and her momentum is astounding.

Out of nowhere, a very peculiar bluish white light surrounds Malfurion as he begins to summon Centarion himself!  I can't believe what I am seeing!  Folks, I have seen some strange things in my seasons, but here I see that TWO Centarions have been summoned and are apparently attacking each other along with 4 identical Treants.  Jaina is really something else.  Reading the desire to call forth this old friend, she copied Malfurion's spell word for word, twisting his magic on the fly to create an illusory double!  The dust seems to be settling down and I spy two dead Centaurions.  This is a sad day for the centaur people twice over.  

After all that chaos, all that remains is Tim, Jaina's massochistic warlock she met in Booty Bay.  Jaina is repeatedly setting him on fire!  Those screams you are hearing are not pain, but pleasure.  I don't know what kind of sick game is playing out here, but I just hope Tim cares as much about the cause he is risking life and limb to achieve as he likes being struck by that woman.  Tim's dying breath comes as a relief to my ears and my goodness, Jaina is laughing maniacally.  Only these two heroes remain on the field of battle and she taunts Malfurion to do his worst.  The spirit if the forest sends down two charging tigers right on top of her!  This looks bad, people!  Jaina is out of reinforcements and appears defenseless!

How mistaken I was!  Jaina is covered with a barrier of ice, just barely keeping her alive, but how is she going to finish this without anything to break through?  Nevermind, Jaina was just giving Malfurion one last chance because here comes the pyroblast.  The blast hits Malfurion like a full horse drawn carriage and he goes tumbling, very clearly unconscious.  That is the game, ladies and gentlemen.  Let's send our sight owl in discreetly and hear what the victor has to say to the defeated.

"Well played, Druid.   I may be the victor here, but our goals are aligned.  I do not want to see this forest harmed any more than you do.  Perhaps you could help oversee this construction with your wise council."

"My thanks to you, human.  Your conviction to protect the wild guided your steps to victory this day.  Phillipa was right, the proposed project is faulty, but her followers were trolls.  I did not need to oppose this construction, I need to ensure the balance of nature and use nature itself to aid against our greater enemies.  I accept your generous offer."

Ladies and gentlemen, there you have it: peace has been achieved!  After all that violence and death, a few key words from Jaina's vast intellect and the old Druid is now helping erect the first bio mechanical hybrid machines that put tree farms in trees so that you can grow trees while you grow trees.  The windmills pull natural water up to the trees as well as spin the gears of war in small war factories below.  A win-win for all involved.  This is certainly not what Stormwind wanted, but I will not be the one to go down there and tell Jaina she should follow orders, am I right?

Makes you wonder why she didn't just ask for his help to begin with?  Tim might still be alive to creep everyone the hell out.  Susva might still be Stormwind's Top Apprentice (great show, tune in at 8 tonight).  Dozens of mighty animals might still roam this town.  This town might still have a windkite, farms full of vegetables, and a town square unravaged by flame and frost.  I don't have the answers, folks, so until next time: This is Stormwind Sentral News, signing out.

Walking in the dirt

I read some article somewhere that taking ten minutes a day with your bare feet in the dirt is better medicine than an apple a day.  I easily get my fix from my garden, but I stumbled upon something interesting this morning.  

After working in the garden, I was taking out the recycling and a patch of sun over concrete brought my feet back to the cool and refreshing dirt.  Astounded at the relief on my previously burning feet, I took a moment to appreciate the dirt because I am a hippie or something.  In doing so, I suddenly felt all the benefits I read about in that article ages ago.  Be it suggestion, placebo, truth, or magic, no matter how I came to feel that way, I cannot argue with the feels I felt.  

As with many things, I was reminded in that moment that they key is gratitude.  Perhaps standing in dirt for ten minutes is only correlated to this feeling.  Perhaps it is energetically accepting grace and gratitude that is the cause of the fuzzy feels I felt.  I don't have any of these answers in words, dear reader.  All I have are my feels and a heart as inquisitive as GlaDOS's curiosity core.  But isn't that the same for everyone?

Tattoo idea

I am borrowing a tattoo gun from a friend and giving myself a tattoo.  Before you go cautioning me in the comments, my dear reader, please hear me out.  This is a good idea, I swear.

Starting at my wrist will be the first of many rings moving up my arm.  Each ring will be a year of my life starting at a specific date.  Much like the rings of a tree, each ring further up will represent another year of my life.  Heavily spiritual moments will be etched into a tangible history on my arm metaphorically as a tree ring heavy with rain.  Drought representing personal droughts, thunder marks representing cataclysmic change, ants and flowers, lumps and knots, transplant marks and wind burn, dustings, injuries, experimental growth stars, nutrient colors, every mark on the rings of a tree tells its past.  Each and every ring on my body can use these marks as a symbolic language to write a detailed autobiography of my whole life on my left arm.  

I don't know if I could trust a tattoo artist to pour herself into every pixel of ink as I will have to in order to bring this design to speak as I want it to.  This is why I am going the "borrow the gun" path with this idea.  

Major props to The Fountain for inspiring this idea.  Future Hugh Jackman has similar rings reaching up his arm in this movie.  Hidden in this costume detail is evidence pointing to him being a number of hundreds of years old in this setting while maintaining Tom (aka Hugh Jackman from the present-day story) as the same Tom and not another reincarnation through the display of the tattoo ring on his finger from when he lost their wedding band in his distant past.  I would love to continue discussing the plot and how the details imply some pretty mind-blowing things, but I'll save the spoilers and the nerdgasm for individual discussion with you someday.  Peace.

Trigger warning

(the following is a stream of consciousness from a time when I was not feeling like living.  Following the official rules of the internet, I'm not going to warn you that this may be triggering because I very may well have triggered you earlier because we are different people and have different triggers)

The thought of taking one's own life is always a logical one.  It is justified and irrefutable.  No matter whether it be shame or purposelessness or mourning, some emotion suspends you in the air by hooks in your skin and your eyes are peeled open to truly see exactly WHY you do not deserve to live.  After a hundred hours of evidence, death's repose begins to feel like MORE than what you deserve-- as if you ought to be SO GRATEFUL for death because you feel that your life is worth less than the dirt you'd be shallowly buried in.  Logic continues to bury you alive and this truth sits on your chest literally and figuratively like a fuck ton of dirt.  You cry and curl into a ball, but you are SO relieved.  Death is a gift now and it is the only thing on the shelf that your life has enough value to purchase-- the only thing you have truly earned and a truly beautiful adventure to come.

Your life flashes before your eyes.  You subconsciously find a solitary moment of happiness from your memory you thought you'd long forgotten.  Your lizard brain rages against the dying of the light and you scream through heavy heaving and gasping sobs.  The noise is nothing like what you normally sound like, but it is the singular most "you" sound that has ever been made.  This yawp reminds you that you exist, but you find that you are now empty.  Your life has no value anymore.  Everything you do from this point onwards is outside the bounds of fate because you are supposed to be dead.  You dedicate your life to helping others.  You piece a shell for yourself together from the fragments of the memories of former you.  Are you you or a memory of a story you read?  Are you feeling emotions or are you following a contrived response pattern?  Who are you?  It doesn't matter anymore.  You don't deserve anything, but you are ok with that.  You couldn't take anything anyway if you wanted to, for fate has another home for it.  What flows to you flows through you to where it is needed.  In defying fate, you have become its agent.  You are humbled and a smile appears for the first time this night.  Tears erupt forth as you become lost in the experience of a joy so infinite as to be indescribable.  You are humbled one last time by this joy.  This joy and belonging is something you don't deserve, but you got it anyway.  This joy is something you must pass on to the one it is meant to find.  

And then it hits you and you realize you were wrong all along...  You aren't a fateless being hijacking the system, you were a pawn after all and a pawn who is burdened with much joy to pass around.  This joy you have found is something you GET to pass on to the one it is meant to find.  You realize that all the logic that lead you here was wrong and yet you are thankful because you are entirely changed because of it.  Your cup is now empty and in every moment you cradle, hold, and release the water of the world.  Your tears have subsided.  It is time for action.

Yep.  Things look so hopeful!  But then it hits you that you fall into this exact same pit like once a month.  Good luck with that.

Post Blog:
Please don't be worried about me or anything.  I have so much help and so much anchoring me to my path that I am more than immune to this beast I must battle periodically.  I believe we all visit points like this in our lives.  I share this one with you to offer a moment of solidarity in our connection and our sameness.  You are NEVER alone, dear reader.  For your reading this has put me in your thoughts forever.  Good luck with that.  

Naturality

I am pretty sure this is not a word, but whatever.

I hear the term "digital native" get thrown around a lot.  The common definition of the term is that someone is a digital native if they grew up with technology and the awkward, non-natural manual ways we as nature's children interact with this inorganic tool.  I think there is hidden meaning in this seemingly arbitrary choice of words our society has chosen.  

Our words, dear reader, tell us so much more than we give them credit for.  To say that someone is a natural or a native of any action implies that their actions are natural-- their actions are of nature, are exactly in line with the perfection of nature, are nothing less than HOLY.  To realize that this term is used like this is to realize that being a natural at computer programming is just the same as being a natural at swimming or Tai Chi.  To connect that transitive strand, when we say someone is a digital native, we are saying that technology is a part of nature now.  As with firecrafting and winfarming, technology is just another element to bend.  Anything born of man is born of nature for that is our universal birthright, my sibling of the great mother.  

To finish off this post, I encourage you to study language carefully.  Up in Alaska, once a boy had killed a moose, it is now theirs and people would say it is HIS and he has taken full responsibility for its life since he has willfully killed it.  Compare that to our own culture where if I were to kill something, it would be a carcass, belonging to death-- I don't want to touch it.  These two HUGE details in the treatment and nature of death comes erupting forth from the words our respective cultures use.  Watch your words, dear reader.  Observe each and every one for the perfection it is and you will be flooded by knowledge about the speaker.  How does one observe each and every word with excruciating detail?  Simple.  We relax.  All of this is beauty is flowing over us like rain.  We can't grasp it, but if we open up wide and just appreciate it, we will find everything we need.

"We kill the Batman" is actually the first thing I said in my head after I said "simple."

Alaskan grandad wisdom

I have probably mentioned this before, but if you ever go to the bush of Alaska, know that everything you do is seen by everyone.  The towns are so small that your smallest actions will be noticed and gossiped around to everyone.  The barrier to entry in the culture is high and you can't just walk in and be accepted, but doing small things can get you in.  I got lucky and spent a few of my first days reading comic books to children in the playground and I was seen.  A family took a liking to me and I got myself some grandparents.  Yay.  My grandad and I had some good talks and I want to share one with you now.  This isn't a quote, but whatever, it'll sound cool this way:

"

I love my child most when I watch him overcome adversity with his own strength.  For adults, this can be painstakingly time consuming, but you must remember, before white man came, we had all the time in the world.  I would go out and fish all day and have huge parties every night.  

When I watched my boy, I would watch him like I would watch a moose-- out of sight, but with my presence known.  My boy would search and play and figure things out.  If he hurt himself, I was always right there, but he had to encounter the world on his own terms.  When talking to him, I would joke him and find ways to laugh.  His confusion was entertaining, but his imagination grew every day.  This is hardly mean because with kids, your emotions are theirs.  If you are stressed, they are.  If you are enjoying your time with your kid, that is what they feel.  

Watching my son overcome this world makes my heart soar.  When he was little, even opening the door without my help overflowed me.  As he grew, he came to trump me at my own stalking games.  That's when I knew I could take him hunting.  Seeing his face as he overcame nature... That moment... That moment was when I knew I had lived a full life.  Through challenging him and letting him scrape his knees safely, he has grown to the point that nothing can hurt him anymore.  To this day, I give my boy sarcasm and trouble that only an old man can give and to this day he grows even more.  

Unfortunately, this way of being is dying.  My son has too much to do to.  He has bills to pay and booze to kill himself with.  I didn't know about money until 1957 when the first plane landed in our waters.  Now even the runty have cell phones and are yelling at each other all boozed up.  An old man like me... I don't know what to do.  I have lived a full life, but now I find the next generation may not have that privilege.  Worse, I fear my boy has forgotten how to listen.

"

Depressing feels aside, he hit on two of the most important lessons one can learn about rearing the young or teaching in general.  

First, teaching is a fine balance.  Too much involvement and they learn that you will do it for them.  Too little involvement and they cannot benefit from your wisdom.  Striking that balance is key to parenting.  Teaching agency requires letting go.

Second, the pure of heart do not see events and words, they see emotions and rippling consequences.  All children are pure of heart by default.  No matter how much society tenderizes this pureness out of us, it will always remain.  Take it back.  My dear reader, you might think that feeling the true weight of events as a child does would cripple us emotionally, but the truth is that it sets us free.  

There will be more from my Alaskan grandparents, but for now I want to shout out to my own parents. I got lucky twice over.  I was shown both of today's lessons by my parents.  Represent.